The Case of England
by Piyo13
Summary: Sherlock is bored, until John forces him to read the paper. There, he reads of the death of government official Arthur Kirkland. The problem is, Kirkland is downstairs in Speedy's, eating breakfast. Now England's biggest secret is at stake...
1. Chapter 1

Dr. John Watson was not having a good day.

He was sitting on the sofa, attempting to type on his blog. As he painstakingly typed a few words, he swore at the people who'd invented technology and keyboards, and wondered offhandedly why in the world he was even bothering to write this blog anyway.

"John."

John ignored the call, and steadfastedly continued typing. He now began cursing the producers of technology and keyboards and such _damned_ contraptions such as computers and- God help him- _laptops._

"John. Jooooohn."

Once again ignoring the voice, John's curses escalated to pure damnation as he struggled to find the '&' on his keyboard.

"Jooooooooooooooooooooohn."

"_What, _Sherlock." John snapped his head around at the man who was perched, rather owl-like, on his chair.

"I'm bored."

"You're bored, Sherlock."

"Yes. I'm bored, John."

John turned back to the computer screen. "Then I suggest you find something to do," he said as he resumed typing, hoping to finish his blog some time before dinner.

"John."

"...Sherlock," John said, searching around. He knew he'd put it somewh- ah, there it was. He reached over to the newspaper and chucked it at Sherlock's head. "Read the newspaper, then, if you're so bored. Memorize every single goddamned page of it."

"Impractical, John."

"Sherlock. Just _read the goddammed paper._ Maybe you'll find an interesting case while you're reading, okay?"

Looking rather much like a sulking kid, Sherlock reluctantly opened the paper and began to read the section about crime and politics. John wasn't even able to get halfway through his next paragraph before-

"John."

"What now, Sherlock?"

"This man. Do you recognize this man?" Sherlock said, folding the paper in two and handing John a black-and-white image of a car crash and a small, close-up image of a person.

"Hmm..." John thought about it, looking the man's face over. There was something familiar... something that he'd seen often... but what was it? Hmm... John stared intently at the picture for a few seconds. Ah-ha! It wasn't like there were very many people in London with _those_ monstrous eyebrows, he remembered seeing them by Speedy's, every morning...! "It's the man who always takes his breakfast at Speedy's and then walks downtown, isn't it?" he said, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes... apparently he's dead."

"Oh," said John. "That's a shame."

"But John! Don't you _see?_" John gave Sherlock an expasperated look.

"No, Sherlock, so if you'd get right into the explaination for whatever it is that I _haven't_ seen, I would very much appreciate that."

"Oh John! John, John, John! Don't you _understand?_ Now _here's _something interesting, I tell you! This man's _dead!_"

"Yes, so...?"

"Dead men don't eat in cafés, John! He was just there this morning! This paper's from yesterday, meaning that the accident here," said Sherlock, talking fast and beginning to pace, while tapping the image of the car crash, "happened at _least_ two days ago. But just this morning, while I was out buying milk-"

"_You_ bought milk?"

"Yes, John, I _do_ do that sometimes now if you would please shut up I need to finish talking, as I was saying, just this morning, I saw him sitting in the window of Speedy's! And here, look at the title of this article-" Sherlock unfolded the paper and held it up, so that John could clearly read that it said _HIGH GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL DEAD, NO BODY OR TRACES OF DRIVER FOUND_, "this means that this man _had_ to have worked for Mycroft, there's no way for him to have been a 'high government official' _other_ than to work for Mycroft, and yet!"

"And yet?" asked John, still rather confused as to where this all was going.

"And yet... a high government official, a man whom Mycroft 'trusted', as far as his 'trust' can go, dies, and the driver is unknown, but Mycroft doesn't call me to investigate?" Sherlock perched himself, once again, on his chair.

"Sherlock, why _would_ Mycroft call you for something like that? He's got the whole of Scotland Yard at his disposal-"

"Yes, but look at the picture!" Sherlock was angrily tapping the car crash image again. "Look at the briefcase! Empty! Those are high-end documents, Mycroft can't let them just go unnoticed. And here!" he said, turning the page and showing it to John. _GOVERNMENT LEAKS?_ was the title. "Mycroft can't just let something like that slide, anything against the government is by extension against himself. Scotland Yard can't track vanished papers down, they've already admitted to 'not having a trace' of the driver. Important documents are missing- look at the quality of the locks on that briefcase, this isn't meant to be used for your typical 'I love you Daddy' pictures, this is something more- and this man is dead, yet somehow he still manages to eat breakfast like normal? This can only mean... John, give me your phone."

"Sherlock, your phone is in your pocket," said John, trying to let the given information sink in.

"Too far away _John your phone,_" Sherlock said. Annoyed, John dropped his phone into the outstretched hand. Sherlock started to type something, then appeared to change his mind. John thought he heard something along the lines of, '...likes to text, so I might as well call...', but he couldn't be sure.

Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear, a small grin on his face as the line picked up after the second ring.

"Hello, brother dear. So tell me, what _ever_ is going on with our dear Arthur Kirkland?"

(((((******)))))

**Author's Note: PHEWWWWWWWW. This was inspired by a prompt on Tumblr... I lost the link, sorry... ^^; Anyway, please review and tell me what you think! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you so, so much to all the people who added this story to their favorites or alerts list/reviewed, namely, **__SilverLunaMoon, Alix Cohen, nanye, Silverstonedragon, XiaoWing, meme12345bunny, Dennisthepinkgoldfish, LadyofaLake, Satisfactory Revenge, cheshiresapprentice, Pumpkin2Face, Pisces Amanda-chan, Jetsir, CiCi The Awesome, xxDarkangelx, Red Hot Holly Berries, OrganizationI, Loulybob, Girl-of-Action, CrownedGingerClown, shadowraven45662, RandomImagination, and 8NobodyKnows8__**! You guys are awesome! (Almost as awesome, in fact, as a certain Gilbert Beilschmidt! :P )**_

_**On another note, I've never gotten so much attention to any of my stories, like, ever o.o It's scaring me xD Völlig uberrascht, Leute! **_

((((((((******))))))))

Sir Arthur Kirkland was not having a good day.

He was sitting at his desk, trying to type up a government report. That, in and of itself, was not particularly tiring; no, that he'd been doing since... well, since a very long time ago. Rather was the fact that a) he had to _type_ this report, and b) getting run over by a car, being sentenced to a hospital room for 24 hours and then needing to come back to work the next day didn't exactly lead to the best mindset one could have. He cursed at the keyboard, grumbling about the loss of longhand in society.

"Sir Kirkland? Mr. Holmes would like to speak to you." Arthur turned and scowled at Mycroft's pretty assistant.

"You can tell 'Mr. Holmes' that he can wait the bloody five minutes it takes me to at least finish the damn sentence before calling me! He can bloody _see_ that I'm not finished!" Arthur exclaimed, making a vague gesture in the direction of the probable surveillance camera. Mycroft's assistant smiled slightly, nodding and turning to leave. Grumbling and giving in to the silent command, Arthur called after her, "And I expect an Earl Grey waiting for me, do you hear!"

He turned back to his writing and scowled, stamping on one last period before saving the document (he'd finally been tau- err, that is to say, _figured out _how to do that). He stood up, grabbing his Victorian-style cane (an original, if you must know) and limped out his small office door and down the hall, cursing stupid drivers who managed to completely shatter the thigh bones of people they ran over- even for him, healing a completely destroyed bone took a little time.

A little _painful_ time.

Arthur rapped briskly on the door, calling out a sharp, "Kirkland," and waiting for the answering awknowledgement. When it came, Arthur opened the door and marched in (as much as anyone with a limp and a cane can march).

"_What, _Mycroft?" He growled, searching for the nearest chair.

"Tsk tsk, Arthur. You could be a little more polite, don't you think?"

Arthur grabbed said chair and pulled it closer, falling into it with a huff. "And you could at least let me have the day off to recover! You know bloody well that _one day _in a bloody hospital won't do much for me!"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Considering that you are, in fact, here and able to walk, I would assume that yes, the 'bloody hospital' did in fact do something for you; I would also like to add to that the fact that you should be _grateful_ for that fact that we could even _have_ a hospital treat you. You were pronounced dead, after all, and most hospitals don't take on dead people..." Mycroft's fingertips touched as he stared over his hands at Arthur, who finally looked away.

"Yes yes, you and your government strings..." he mumbled. The corners of Mycroft's mouth twitched, and Arthur had the distinct impression that Mycroft had heard him. Mycroft nodded once, then pushed a tea cup that was sitting on his desk in Arthur's direction. Arthur looked at it suspiciously.

"Earl Grey, as per your request," said Mycroft. Then, "Oh, don't look at me like that it's not drugged." _Besides, that was only one time, and you were slightly out of control... beating up the personification of the Republic of France wasn't the smartest decision you've ever made,_ Mycroft added mentally. Arthur, still giving him what could have been reminiscent of a glare (although that could have just been a by-product of his eyebrows), carefully picked up the cup and took a sip.

He placed the cup back on the saucer before clearing his throat. "Well, Mycroft? I assume you _did_ summon me for a reason other than to give me potentially drugged tea." At that, Mycroft leaned back into his chair, eyes wandering, for the first time in minutes, away from Arthur's person. Arthur couldn't help but feel relieved that the gaze was gone.

"Ah yes, the reason I called you..." Arthur tapped his fingers impatiently on his thigh (the good one) before reaching over to the teacup and drinking deeply. _Heaven knows I need my tea, _he thought, savoring the liquid as he swallowed. Mycroft stared at the ceiling for a bit, before continuing. "Arthur, as I am sure you are aware, the driver of the vehicle was not found."

Arthur nodded.

Mycroft continued. "Well, the reason for that is simple enough; there _was _no driver." Arthur's enourmous eyebrows scrunched together, conveying the confusion their owner was feeling.

"What do you mean, 'there was no driver'? How can there not be a driver for a-" Arthur stopped as Mycroft's hand came up.

"You didn't let me finish, Arthur. As I was saying, there was no driver in the typical sense of 'driver'. What some members of the investigative squad found, and what our own dear Inspector Lestrade rightly confiscated, were the somewhat crushed remains of what appears to be a remote-controlled steering device." Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "This means, of course," continued Mycroft, "that whoever was 'driving' this vehicle was doing so for only one purpose-"

"To kill me?" asked Arthur, sounding rather less put-off that he should have at the idea. He recalled fondly the fights of his Sea Dog days, his eyes brightening a little at the prospect of soon-to-be adventure. These prospects died off soon enough under Mycroft's glare.

"Please, don't get any ideas, Arthur. It will save both you and me and several members of MI6 trouble if you didn't go off and do something stupid." Arthur took a non-chalant sip of his tea, trying to appear innocent of any such ideas (he failed). "But yes, that appears to have been the goal of the driver."

At this point Arthur couldn't help but interrupt. "Well, it's not the first time something like this has happened. I'm a natio- I'm a higher government official, after all. People tend to try and kill us off, you know."

"Arthur, please stop living in the past, assassinations are _far_ less frequent in this day and age. And aside from that, if this person knew of your true identity, why would they bother harming _you?_ Wouldn't they _know_ that you are next to impossible to kill?" Arthur opened his mouth to say something, before realizing that Mycroft was correct and closing it again. Mycroft raised a finger. "And, in addition to that, I can assure you that most of the common folk don't even know that you work for the government of England." At that, Mycroft paused. "Or at least, they didn't until yesterday." At that, Mycroft handed Arthur a neatly folded copy of _The Times_, with a title that read, _HIGH GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL DEAD, NO BODY OR TRACES OF DRIVER FOUND._

"Oh," was all Arthur could say. _And it's even complete with a picture!_ he couldn't help but think. "Well, that won't be a problem, I can simply tell anyone who appears to recognize me that they should forget me and-"

"And we're back at square one." Mycroft pulled out his cell phone, tapped the screen a few times, and then looked at Arthur. "I'm sure you've heard of my dear little brother?" Arthur nodded, vaguely remembering the tall, dark-haired man. And cheekbones. "Yes, well." Mycroft extended the phone towards Arthur and hit what appeared to be a 'play' button.

A voice rang out, rich and deep despite the dubious recording quality of the phone. _"Hello, brother dear. So tell me, what _ever_ is going on with our dear Arthur Kirkland?"_

((((((((********))))))))

_**And I think I'm gonna leave it with this quote again :D *shot* BUT GAIZ I ACTUALLY GOT MORE THAN 1000 WORDS ON THIS CHAPTER. This hasn't happened in... a REALLY LONG TIME. **_

_**Anyway, I only speak American English ( D: ), so if anyone has suggestions as to how I can make their speech patterns more British, please help! **_

_**I definitely had something else to say, but I forgot what it was :D**_

_**Thanks again for the wonderful feedback, everyone~ Ich hab euch Lieb! :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Again, I'd like to start off thanking the people to added this story to their alerts/favs or reviewed! (I'mma start a tradition yay! :D) So a big thank-you shout-out to: **__Alix Cohen, The Rose Red Alchemist, shadowraven45662, Loulybob, Nakita Braginski-Williams, PharaohsDarkness, Smiley-sama, FiveLeggedTango, Coffeetailor, Bright Swallow, Fall into the Void, Wayward's Passenger, meme12345bunny, MoonxStar, XOTAKUNationXpro, Fallen Angel195, Atlantos, LadyofaLake, xxDarkangelx, HylianRose, Dennisthepinkgoldfish, Dragon with two hearts, and the three Anons__**!**_

_**I am just COMPLETELY blown away by you guys' niceness in reviewing and alerting and askdhgaksdhjgöakdghj you guys are just awesome :)**_

_**And without further ado, on to the next chapter!**_

((((((((*******)))))))))

_"Hello, brother dear. So tell me, what _ever_ is going on with our dear Arthur Kirkland?"_ Arthur's mouth formed a neat 'oh' shape, and he took a breath to say something, but the voice in the phone went on, _"Before you say anything trying to deny his existence or confirming his death, please check yesterday's issue of _The Times_-"_ Mycroft pointed, eyebrows raising slightly, to the newspaper in Arthur's hand. _"-and read the article pertaining to the... 'death' of your worker. And don't pretend you don't know of him, I know that you know anyone even moderately approaching the upper rankings of society and government. As I was saying, I know he isn't dead, considering the fact that I saw him just this morning in Speedy's, eating his breakfast as usual. By the way, tell him he has a nice cane. Vintage, isn't it?"_ At that point, Arthur couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his cane. Though... it was in pretty good shape. How had Mycroft's brother known that it was vintage...? _"I would also recommend that you double-check as to the contents of his briefcase."_ At this point, Mycroft paused the recording, leaning back.

"And there you have it. The reason why you have been summoned here is not, in fact, to drink possibly drugged tea, but rather to ask you about your briefcase. At this point, I must confess, I had not thought that you would have had documents inside. It was found empty after all."

Arthur raised his brows and squirmed uncomfortably. Well, this was... not exactly good, no. Mycroft raised a brow, still leaning back in his chair. "Mycroft... are you... _sure_ that there were no documents inside the briefcase?"

"Quite sure, Arthur."

"Ah. Well, you see..." began Arthur, gulping. If possible, Mycroft's already intimidating look became even scarier. "It was the, er, transcripts. From the last World Meeting. And... _maybe_ the other cou- er, _representatives'_ information. And. Um." Mycroft's eye twitched, a rare sign of emotion other than disdain on his face.

"Arthur, I hope for your sake that you weren't about to say the _top-secret files_ that you were supposed to be negotiating with the other representatives." Arthur, wisely, said nothing. Mycroft took a deep breath. "Anthea, I'll take a Darjeeling, if you don't mind," he called to his assistant. Arthur's eyes followed every controlled movement that Mycroft made. "Arthur. One last question."

"Yes?"

"Are you completely, utterly, one-hundred-percent _positive_ that those were the contents of your briefcase at the time of the accident? You are _sure_ that they are not sitting in your flat, or on your desk, or _somewhere else_ at this moment?"

"Yes. Positive. I rem_e_mber putting them in my briefcase... are you _sure_ that they haven't been found? I thought that-"

"Yes, I am rather sure," Mycroft said bitingly. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, until Anthea came in with Mycroft's tea. Gently picking up the porcelain cup, Mycroft brought it to his mouth. He took a sip of the liquid, seeming to calm down (if only slightly). "Right. Well then." Mycroft stopped in mid-speech, taking another drink. Then he took a deep sigh, and looked Arthur straight in the eyes. "We have no other recourse. Either _you_ find the papers and figure out who is behind this all, or we..." Mycroft took a deep breath, seeming to gather himself. "Or we turn it over to my brother."

"Your brother?"

Mycroft gave a little shrug. "Scotland Yard isn't up to it, and, for all his faults, at least my brother won't _knowingly_ give out government information."

"Scotland Yard isn't up to it." The question rang out more like a statement than anything else. Mycroft nodded.

"No, they are not. Not by any means. None of them who were on the crime scene even noticed that the papers were missing, and they were there." One of Arthur's eyebrows twitched.

"Well if the whole damn Scotland Yard isn't 'up to it', then how the bloody hell do you expect _me_ to figure it out? You might as well hand it directly off to your brother!" Mycroft gave an impatient little snort.

"I try, for once, to be polite and... 'considerate' of your feelings, and then you get angry with me. I'll just not try next time." Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find a suitable answer. Mycroft picked up his phone once again, and began typing. He took another sip of his tea, and then set the phone back down on his desk. "And now we wait. Please, Arthur, do drink your tea."

Arthur glowered at Mycroft over the rim of his pink flowered teacup.

((***))

_Beep. _

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Bee-_ John finally grabbed his mobile phone (hidden under a pillow between the wall and the back of the sofa, just out of reach, undoubtedly left there by Sherlock after his fit of temper at his brother) and clicked on the button that said he had a New Message.

_Tell my brother to stop pouting and come at once. _

_-MH_

"Well, wasn't that descriptive," grumbled John, pocketing the phone and looking around for Sherlock. _Well, he's not in the living room_, he thought, setting off in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. John had learned from past experience that keeping Mycroft waiting was a somewhat dangerous action. Add to that the fact that Mycroft would most likely know John and Sherlock's exact location as soon as they set foot outside. John peeked his head inside the bedroom.

"Sherlock?" A silence answered John, and he turned to leave, before hearing an odd, _mmmph_ noise. He turned back slowly. "...Sherlock?" Again the noise. John zoned in on the noise, deciding it was coming from under the bed. He crouched down slowly, lifting the skirt of the bed-

-only to be greeted with Sherlock, _somehow_ hunched sideways under the mattress, with both arms extended forward and mostly covered with nicotine patches. John's eye twitched.

Ten minutes later, and John and a somewhat-high Sherlock were standing on the pavement outside 221B, trying to hail a taxi before Sherlock shed his blanket. _On the bright side, _thought John, _at least Sherlock is wearing pants underneath this time._

"Whyyyy do we have to go to Myyyycroft, John?" whined Sherlock, still clearly a little bit out of it. John sighed.

"Just get in the cab, Sherlock. Just... no, Sherlock, in the cab." After giving the cabbie directions (and getting a rather odd look in return) John pulled out his phone and texted a reply:

_We're on our way. But I don't think you'll be too pleased with the state he's in._

_-John Waston_

((***))

Mycroft's phone buzzed shortly. Both Mycroft and Arthur turned their attention to it, Mycroft giving it a cursory glance and a nod. Then he looked up at Arthur.

"It appears they are on their way."

((((((((((((**********)))))))))))))

**A/N: Heelllloooooo. Sorry that this chapter took longer than the last one ^^; Real life caught up with me (uuuuuuuuughhhhhhhh I hate teeeeeeeeests) and then I somehow got roped into running 18km in May and I need to train for that, and then I'm trying to juggle multiple people who want to visit as well as a new school come fall... TT^TT **

**but... having a high Sherlock should be fun :D xD**

**ANYWAY. SUPER IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT HERE. ACTUALLY TWO. **

**1) Beta reader is being looked for! Basically you'd just hafta be prepared to read over my rough drafts, hopefully correct American English to British English, and yeah. **(because even though several of you were _extremely_ helpful regarding correcting my mistakes, I'm not confident enough to keep posting stuff that only I proof-read... ^^;)

**2) Along the lines of beta reading, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT I'M WRITING HERE. As in, there is no plot as of the moment. Thus, updates might be delayed a bit until I actually figure out what I want to write (sorrrrrrreeeeeeeee). I'm hoping this phase won't last too long though ;A;**


	4. Chapter 4

_**I love all my subscribers/reviewers. Which means I love: **__Ali-Kun, Lydiacatfish, FireflyAliceXIII, kitlinausa, Leafyisland, MintBlue, Ryuuk96, Captain Arthur Kirkland, SevLovesLily, forgottentears6, Fumetsu-no Nessa, Kajiwara, Lyndana, Prussia's Mistress, MasqueradeDoll, ShiandSaisei, Elentia, DancingMoony, BreathingBreathingsBoring, webtail, MissTreason, Daisuke Kazamatsuri, Hamajo, Warrior Chickenz, DreamingDeity, Logical Fallacy, HENRIT, Kakashi's-lil'-sis, TheDragonofSocialGatheringsXD, Hikari Kaiya, sugar-run, Karmi-Sempai, Glacarius, pinkrose1122, adptt12, TheQuestionThatRemains, Masked Bard of Chaos, mindpearl, DiJei Aya, alaskataylor, Lord Rebecca-Sama, kimikissu07, Tabbyprincess, kittymango, Meh111, CandyThief, Dream Eclipse, Bruder-aus-Osten-und-Westen, Myrna Maeve, artemis89, TouchingTheSkyInMyDreams, Page-Mistress, cec0906, jingruyin, demoneyeskyoko, shadowraven45662, meme12345bunny, Alix Cohen, Wayward's Passenger, Kronos930, xxDarkangelx, and the Anons __**:) You guys are just amazing, seriously~**_

(((((((((((((************)))))))))))))

The first ten minutes passed in awkward silence. Arthur had long finished his tea, and had been wishing desperately for another one (he had, after all, given up smoking quite a while ago- it was _impossible_ to sustain a smoking habit in London in this day and age- and tea was the next best thing [during work hours, at least]).

Swirling the teacup around and taking one last sip, Mycroft looked up at Arthur. "Arthur, we have to talk about your alibi." Arthur scrunched his eyebrows together (_My God,_ though Mycroft, _they really are enourmous_).

"My alibi? What for?"

"For the fact that you 'died' but my brother saw you today, eating breakfast in Speedy's. I always _told_ you that it was dangerous to mix yourself too much with the folk..." Mycroft murmured the last part, cold eyes glaring at Arthur, who gulped. "As I was saying, Sherlock will see right through you, and he'll want answers, unless you have a decent alibi."

Arthur grunted. "We could just tell him that the media was wrong, I never really 'died'. And that I was in Speedy's... because it actually wasn't so bad of a crash and I felt well enough to move today," Arthur finished, rather lamely in his opinion. Mycroft appeared to think the same, if his unamused expression was anything to go by.

"No, this is what we'll do..."

(((*)))

Twenty minutes later, Arthur found himself locked in his office (from the outside, Mycroft insisted it looked more 'natural'), with the lights out and only a steadily colder cup of tea as appeasement. Of course, leave it to Mycroft to deny him the chance to go home early, for once...

Arthur rubbed his temples, and took a sip of the tea (too sweet) before settling down to wait. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps walking down the hall and an exasperated voice telling someone else to _just get in Mycroft's office already_. A door closed, and Arthur breathed. No one had tried to break his door o-

_Knock knock knock._ Oh fucking hell, who was that? Wait a minute... Arthur flipped rapidly through his planner, eyes widening as he realized who it was.

"Oh come, _mon Angleterre_, don't be like that! I know you're in there~. You don't need to pretend to be gone!" The doorknob rattled for a second, before Arthur heard a sigh from the other side of the door. _Please go away, go away, go awaaaaay!_ prayed Arthur as the silence extended itself for a little.

He suddenly remembered why he no longer attended Church of any kind as he heard the distinctive sounds of a lock being picked. And then- _and then_ the door popped open.

Two thoughts ran through Arthur Kirkland's mind at this point in time. The first, _I really need to tell Mycroft he should get better security for my office_. The second, _Fuck you, Frogface_. Apparently he'd said the last one aloud, because Francis winced a little.

"My my, _Angleterre_, no need to yell so loud, I can hear you perfectly fine..."

Well, fuck. Stupid Frogface.

((*))

The ride was a nightmare.

Sherlock, still seemingly high on the pouting-induced nicotine overdose, had spent the entire car ride ranting off things about John, the random people outside, and the cabbie (who looked increasingly unnerved). When they finally arrived at Whitehall, John realized that he had absolutely no idea where, exactly, he was to be taking Sherlock.

The five minute spat that ensued ended up with the two exactly where they'd started (Sherlock insisted that it was _simply not important_ to visit his brother at the moment), with the consequence that John had to pull out his mobile and text Mycroft, asking where his office was.

Following the directions (and manhandling a certain reluctant consulting detective into following _him_) they arrived to the final corridor, at which point the texted directions just read, 'My office is at the end'. Turning around to make sure Sherlock was still with him, John noticed the taller man staring intently at the nameplate of the office to their immediate right- _Arthur Kirkland_.

There was no indication of status underneath the name. _Odd, _thought John.

Sherlock was about to reach for the doorknob when John interrupted, saying, "Come on, Sherlock. It's only a few more steps... come _on_."

And, finally, at long last, they'd reached their goal.

Sherlock was in Mycroft's office, and nothing had exploded. (Yet.)

Mycroft looked up from his paper, an unreadable expression on his face. "Ah, brother dear. How... nice of you to stop by." He then turned to John, adding, "And John. You really could try a little harder to keep him _away_ from the drugs, couldn't you?" John opened his mouth, outraged.

"You-! You're the _reason_ he's gone and doped himself completely up! If it weren't for _you_ and your non-answers he wouldn't be pouting and then feel the need for the damned drugs! You-"

Mycroft waved a hand at John. "Yes yes, of course," he said, before turning to Sherlock. "Now, Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind, I have a case for you. It involves-"

"Yes yes your 'dead' friend, now get to the point- what was in that briefcase that you want me to find?" Mycroft sniffed.

"Sherlock, I would very much appreciate it if you were to stop putting air-quotes around 'dead', it's annoying. Furth-"

"But he's not _dead _dead, so why should I say he's dead when he's clearly only 'dead'?" John thought about intervening. Thought.

"Sherlock. He _was_ dead, but, thanks to modern technology, he was able to be saved. He is, in fact, at this very moment at _home_, trying to _recover_ from the accidents of that-"

Mycroft and Sherlock both froze, and John turned to blatantly stare at the door as he heard what distinctly sounded like 'Fuck you, Frogface' echo through the hallway. A moment of silence passed between them.

Then, quite suddenly, a scream issued forth from the hallway, followed by enraged bellowing- yes, bellowing- a mixture of English and French curse words, and, finally, two pairs of footsteps running down the hallway, ending in the door to Mycroft's office being thrown open by a rather disgruntled-looking blonde with pleading blue eyes.

Followed immediately by another blonde, with shorter hair, a positively furious expression (at least three-fourths of the curse words were coming from his not-quite-so-clean mouth), and caterpi- oh _God_, were those supposed to be _eyebrows?_

"Monsieur Holmes! _S'il vous plait!_" cried the longer-haired blonde as he was tackled to the ground, "I zink England ees trying to keel me!" John couldn't help but notice that, not only did this man have a (very heavy) French accent, but he also seemed to have the over-dramatizing streak possessed by many of France's professional football players... John narrowed his eyes. Sherlock, sitting next to him, did the same, as did Mycroft, though with rather different reasons.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft, a glint in his eye. "England?"

Mycroft, eyes still narrowed and seemingly bent on causing pain, stared the two blondes down. "Kirkland. Bonnefoy. Oh please, _do _explain what you are doing in my office." The two men on the floor (in a rather compromising position, if John were to say so himself) both gulped.

Sherlock, in the meantime, hummed a cheerful melody, which John found _rather_ out of place. "I _told_ you I saw Kirkland in Speedy's today~".

Mycroft could only glare.

(((((((((((((************)))))))))))))))

**A/N: so you may have noticed that this has taken me a REALLY LONG TIME to update. **

**Sorry? ^^; But no, seriously, I actually am sorry. I just went through a somewhat rough patch and all and then ended up in Strasbourg, France and Vienna, and I was also having issues trying to figure out what the hell was going to happen in this chapter and how I was going to write it and basically**** I'M SORRY ALL YOU AMAZING PEOPLE THAT THIS TOOK FOREVER TO UPDATE. ****(it's a bit longer than usual? :'D) but thank every single one of you yet again for your reviews and alerts and stuff, if really does do wonders to keep me motivated (the reviews that say UPDATE! are twofold though- really those I feel really super-guilty and thus procrastinate more xD) **

**Also, thanks to**** xxDarkangelx ****for help with ideas! And to all the people who 'applied' as betas- I'M SORRY I STILL NEED TO GET BACK TO YOU. AHHHHHHH. I do have a justification, though... my computer time has been recently severely cut back and the choice was between writing out this chapter ot talking to betas. I decided to write the chapter first and talk to betas later, seeing as I've already kept everyone waiting so long... I'M SORRY PLEASE ACCEPT MY DEEPTEST APOLOGIES YOU AMAZING BUNCH OF PEOPLES.**

**LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE IS LONG. orz**


	5. Chapter 5

_***looks around hesitantly* **_

_***crawls carefully out from under a rock***_

_**Please don't hurt me…. I SWEAR I didn't intend for this to become a month-long hiatus but I have reasons that are listed after the fic HERE READ IT AND DON'T HURT ME PLEASE TT^TT**_

((((((((((*******))))))))))

This was, John supposed, the very definition of 'awkward silence'. The five people (six, he amended, as he saw Mycroft's assistant sidle in with a blank expression) in the room all looked at one another in alternating turns, no one quite daring to voice anything yet.

Mycroft let out a sigh. "Arthur, I'm giving you until the count of three to explain to me just _what, exactly, _it is that you two are doing here."

The blond with the green eyes gulped somewhat and turned to glare at the Frenchman. "It's all his fault!" said Arthur, pointing his finger in a movement that struck John as very immature. "Bloody idiot blasted his way into my fucking office, that's what!" The other blonde scoffed.

"My dear En- Arthur," he started, throwing a sideways glance at Mycroft when uttering the other's name, "there are, as a matter of fact, a thousand better ways to tell someone you would like to cancel your appointment with them than to lock yourself in your office and pretend to be gone." He sniffed. "A simple phone call would have saved me quite a bit of trouble!"

"For a Frenchman, your command of the English language is quite astonishing. Especially your accent- or rather, should I say lack of? You seemed to have a rather strong one moments ago, unless I was mistaken," Sherlock said, eyes twinkling, as he swayed a bit on his chair. John sighed and highlighted his mental note to thoroughly search the house for drugs. _Maybe I should just call Lestrade, have him do all the work for me…_

It was an entertaining thought, he had to admit.

Mycroft, at this point, had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. Anthea surreptitiously exchanged his teacup for a new, fuller one. "Brother dearest, if you would refrain from your comments for ten seconds, that would be greatly appreciated. Mr. France- is Bonnefoy, I must ask you to return to your home, if not at least the embassy, you are getting in the way of a current project. Mr. Kirkland, I require you to help my brother find the stolen documents-"

"What documents?" said a voice with an obnoxiously American accent. All six heads turned to the door where one- no, two- men stood. They looked very similar, John would say, although it was somewhat hard to clearly see the second man. The one in front, clearly visible, was looking into the room with confusion on his bright blue eyes, a lollipop in his cheek.

"Bloody motherfucking hell," said Arthur.

"_Putain merde_," said the Frenchman.

"Fuck," said Mycroft, causing even Sherlock to look at him with a look of surprise. If even _Mycroft_ was swearing…

…well that could only mean something was very, very wrong.

The man with the lollipop scrunched his eyebrows. "Hey no need to be in such a sour mood! I'm the hero, I can help you with anything!" He then flashed everyone a winning smile, and seemed to quite suddenly notice that Sherlock and John were in the room. He practically bounded over (carefully avoiding the two on the floor), and extended a hand. "Alfred F. Jones, United States of America, very nice to meet you!"

Sherlock squinted before shifting his torso and taking Alfred's hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

Alfred then proffered the hand to John, who shook it as well. "Captain John Watson." Hey, it wasn't every day John met people he didn't know that weren't too busy being mad at Sherlock to care about him. Might as well point out his rank every once in a while, right?

"Captain? You're in the army? Active service or reserve? Say…" Alfred turned to Arthur. "Arthur, I _was_ supposed to introduce myself to these people, right?" He let out a nervous chuckle at the expression of the other man's face. "Maybe… maybe not… Mattie HIDE ME!" he yelled, darting outside the room to hide behind the other man. They looked like they could be twins, were it not for a slight difference in haircut.

He- Mattie, John presumed- waved shyly. "I'm Matthew. Williams," he said, also sporting a rather American accent, although there was something different. John dipped his head, muttering 'pleasure'. Sherlock had a small smile on his lips as he turned to face Mycroft.

"Three," he said.

Mycroft glared. Sherlock glared right back, in a battle of will. Used to the brothers' communication consisting of one-word sentences, John sighed and prepared himself to ask exactly-

"Three? What's three supposed to mean?" Alfred had popped back up from behind Matthew and was looking, once again confused, into the room. The lollipop was gone, John noticed, thinking Sherlock would be proud of him for his skills in observance, upon which he immediately shook his head to clear all the thoughts out.

Being his usual, insufferable, show-off self, Sherlock answered, eyes still fixed on Mycroft, "Three slip-ups. Four, if you count the hesitation when you were saying Mr… Bonnefoy, is it? Mr. Bonnefoy's name. Four mentions of country names in reference to people in this room. Why, Mr. Jones here even so graciously introduced himself as the United States. Either the Americans have taken international diplomacy to new level in declaring that their ambassadors _are_ the country- which we both know is false, Mycroft, seeing as both you and I know that Mr. Susman is the ambassador, and please forgive me if I do not see a resemblance between Jones and Susman- or there is something else happening here." Sherlock folded his hands, prayer-like, in front of his face. "It intrigues me," he stated simply.

John couldn't help but notice how, upon mentioning his introduction, Alfred gave out a strangled gulp and Arthur shot Francis what could only be called an evil glare.

Mycroft took a deep breath. His fingers once again found the bridge of his nose, rubbing deeply. He took a sip of his tea, and John fancied he could see the gears of his mind turning. He recognized the expression; it was one Sherlock often wore when trying to figure something out. Mycroft shifted his gaze to Arthur, who pointedly didn't make eye contact. Francis sniggered, and John could have sworn he heard something along the lines of 'pirates scared of politicians', but he couldn't be sure. In any case, Francis was further glared down.

"Arthur. Would you mind telling me why all _three_ of them are here?"

Arthur gulped. "Ah yes, well. You see, Mr. Holmes… Francis was here for a… for a meeting. And Alfred and Matthew were scheduled to meet me at my flat later I… I wanted a family reunion of sorts," he muttered. "_Why_ they would show up _here_ and _now_ of all things I also don't know."

"Private jet, babe," Alfred said, winking.

"Flying with him at the controls is a nightmare," the one called Matthew said softly. To John it rather appeared as though no one had heard him.

"And you didn't inform me?" Mycroft asked imperiously.

"I… didn't deem it necessary, sir. This meeting was to be of no… political purpose."

Mycroft snorted. "Useless. Your actions imperil the government, Mr. Kirkland. You should be aware of that by now. Goodness knows you're experienced enough in these matters." John wondered offhandedly just _how_ many undercurrents were carried in those few sentences.

"Mycroft," said Sherlock. Mycroft waved a hand.

"Yes, yes Sherlock I'm getting to you. In the meantime, if the you all would like to please go to Arthur's office- except you Arthur, I have need of you here- it should be open, considering how he and Bonnefoy thundered here." Matthew, Alfred, and Francis didn't move. "Off you go," Mycroft said, making shoo-ing motions with his hand.

Shooting Arthur glances that varied from pitying to questioning, the three blond-haired, blue-eyed men filed out of Mycroft's office. Mycroft took the time to shoot Arthur a look of pure wrath, before turning to Sherlock.

"Kirkland isn't in the hospital. He's not even at home. He is well enough to be able to walk around using his cane- rather expensive one, especially considering its age, must have cost a fortune. No way one could afford that on a government salary, you _must_ tell me more about that later; you also appear to have forgotten it in your office, dear me, you _do_ heal quite fast, unless of course the car didn't hit you, though I am quite sure that the pictures from the newspaper depict you- and that, after being pronounced dead. I'm sure John could testify that hospitals don't just _release_ near-dead patients from their care, nor that such near-dead patients are quite as unhurt as Mr. Kirkland." John nodded absently, trying to figure out where Sherlock was going with all this. "'Political purposes' would imply a career in foreign policy, considering the partner for this work is a Frenchman, who appears to come from France due to his temporary home being the embassy. However, that 'family' lives across the ocean- the quieter one is Canadian, is he not? I rather like him, he doesn't try to drag other people's IQ down with needless words- and that 'family' appears to be all in the same age… adopted? Or, maybe, a government experiment? New drugs against aging; that would certainly explain the 'experience' had although you appear to be no older than thirty… perhaps several countries tried this experiment- that would explain the frequent use of country names…" Sherlock slipped off into quietness, staring at Arthur. John almost felt bad for the man.

Mycroft sighed, again, taking another swig of tea. Anthea had disappeared. Not that John noticed at all, of course not.

"Sherlock. You are here for one purpose only. Arthur has lost a briefcase containing important evidence of the classified kind."

"The briefcase is next to your desk," Sherlock muttered, gaze still far off. A nerve seemed to pulse on Mycroft's temple.

"Documents inside the briefcase, then. _We need them back_. If there were anyone else I could ask, I would, Sherlock, but this is all far beyond Scotland Yard's level."

"Are you looking to hire me, brother?"

"You are a detective, are you not? I'd offer to pay you, but that's not how it works with you, is it?" Sherlock smirked at then, and sat back abruptly.

"John," he said, and John turned to listen. "I'd say this classifies at about an eight. Eight and a half, maybe. Possibly even nine, depending on the importance of some words said." Then Sherlock was addressing Mycroft once more. "I'll take it. I'll need access to the crime scene- preferably as little touched as possible, at the very least I need photos from the day of- as well as all security feeds from the area. And…" Sherlock's eyes glinted in a mischievous way. "I think Mr. Kirkland's assistance would be very much helpful to solving this case. If you can spare him from his all-important government duties for a day or two?" One of Sherlock's eyebrows was raised.

Mycroft took another deep breath, and John was under the impression that he was trying very, very hard to not start shouting.

"Kirkland. You heard my brother. Please, accompany him. And do try to be prudent when discussing… _government_ matters, will you?" he finally said, shooting Arthur a pointed glare.

Arthur nodded and stood, placing more weight on the one leg than the other, John noticed.

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking positively happy. He tried to stand, fell back into his seat, looked confused for a moment, before attempting to stand once more. John offered up his arm, and Sherlock used it to pull himself up, then let go and walked out of the office door with a flourish, following Arthur. John followed last.

"Oh, and John?" John paused, and turned to face Mycroft.

"Yes?"

"I _do_ concern myself for my brother's safety. Please-"

"Try and keep him away from the drugs, _I know_."

With that, John strode out the door, walking faster to catch up with Arthur and Sherlock. Arthur paused at his office, opening the door and beginning to shout angrily at the three people inside.

_This will be interesting, and possibly not in the good way_, John thought to himself.

Sherlock, standing next to him, hummed happily to himself under his breath, looking quite content with the world.

Sometimes John was envious of Sherlock.

((((((((((*******))))))))))

_**Okay, first off: A GAZILLION BILLION MILLION THANK YOUS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED (sadly I can't list everyone due to reasons that you'll see if you just keep reading a little bit more…)**_

_**I'm terribly terribly sorry about how late and hiatus-y this is D: Basically I had a legit reason for the first two months (going to Croatia for vacation, then to Berlin, then moving continents, then travelling a LOT for summer vacation, and this whole time my computer was broken (which is why I can't list any of the names- I'd put them all onto the document already, but then the document got a bit scrambled and all the names were no longer accessible and I was too lazy to go through on FF and figure out who I'd listed or not). And then I got a new computer, and I procrastinated, and then school started. Which isn't really an excuse but it sort of is, right?**_

_**Anyway, to summarize: I'M SORRY AND THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED/FOLLOWED I LOVE YOU ALL I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER IT'S A BIT LONGER THAN USUAL.**_

_**AND ALSO UN-BETA'D.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Many wonderful thanks to: **_ _cocoblue181, Juveniliare, Jazzcat1231, MissBliss8527, __EspeonSilverfire2, CactusNoir__, __IronicPenName, takuya, YaoiLuvr,_ _jcrycolr3, Dawnshine,_ _Akakata7,_ _Fi Suki Saki, GeraniumRose,_ _AFleetingPhantom,_ _England's Porn Box, DreamingDeity, aurthur, Unleashed111, __Lady Queria, animeloveramy, Silvermoon of Forestclan, America's the Hero, Sunfire7845, Page-Mistress, detima1, __Akemi713, Warrior Chickenz, The Dangerous One, __**and several guests! Thank you all so much! And since I know I've kept you all waiting such a long time, have the fic now! *throws fic***_

(((((((((((((((((((*******************))))))))))))))))))

John sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It had been a long, stressful day, and all he really wanted was to sit down with a nice cuppa and watch whatever came on the telly.

But no.

John glanced over at Sherlock. The dark-haired man was perched on his chair, fingers together, murmuring under his breath, clearly lost in thought. John sighed.

((((***))))

On the other side of town (metropolis, really, and technically even farther), Arthur sat down on his favorite chair, pulling up a wonderfully warm cup of the finest Earl Grey. A little known fact was that Arthur, for all his un-skill with cooking, had a small greenhouse which produced the best tea there was. He'd gotten the plants as a present from Yao several (hundred) years back, and he'd kept it alive and well since then, and it always produced the best tea for him. Arthur nodded appreciatively as he sipped the piping hot drink.

And then he groaned, because not only were the _World Conference_ files missing, but Alfred, Matthew, and Francis were currently upstairs being suspiciously quiet and, right, Mycroft was angry and his mad brother had been assigned to find the files.

Joy.

Arthur furrowed his formidable brow as he recalled the events after the debacle in Mycroft's office. The sensible man, John, had followed the younger Holmes brother around for a bit. Sherlock, in turn, had walked around Arthur's office, occasionally shifting a pile of papers or opening a drawer. Arthur had had to stop himself flinching when Sherlock had opened the small china cupboard and proceeded to take out the old teacup (originally belonging to Queen Victoria, appropriated by Arthur after her lamentable death). After half an hour of this (surround sound cheerily provided by Alfred, with French background courtesy of Matthew and Francis), John had locked his jaw and, after a quick apology, manhandled Sherlock out of the office.

This had left Arthur with a hyperactive American, a Frog, and... and someone else to deal with. He'd had to escort all of them out of the building and down to a taxi (all this without killing anyone or destroying anything, mind you), and then try to direct them around his rather large Victorian house on the edges of London. So far, nothing had been broken, although Alfred had come dangerously close after running in a dead sprint from a room, claiming it had ghosts.

"That's preposterous! There's no ghosts here. Right?" He directed the question to the small, flying bunny with a fae on its back who was hovering around his head. The bunny and the fae both shook their heads. "To think Alfred even _believes_ in ghosts anymore... seriously. How crazy can one be?" The bunny made a solemn sound of agreement.

((((***))))

Surprisingly, the rest of the night had passed rather uneventfully for John. At some point he must have dozed off, for he was awoken rather abruptly by the shrill shrieking of the fire alarm.

"Whaa-?" he said, leaping to his feet and reaching, in a reflex motion, for an army-issue gun that wasn't there.

"Nothing to worry about, John," came Sherlock's voice from the kitchen. "Eyeballs can't be microwaved long than 15 and a half minutes, did you know that? Fascinating."

"Eyeballs... in the... microwave? Sherlock, you can't just go about microwaving eyeballs however you damn well please!" John stormed into the kitchen, appraising the damage. The microwave plate had been removed, along with what was now gently smouldering charcoal. Inside the microwave, the walls were covered with some sort of dark goop, which didn't look in the least appetising. "Sherlock, I wanted to _use_ the microwave, you know, for _the food I want to eat_. Not for some exploding eyeball experiment! Where the hell did you get those anyway, I thought I told you to keep dead people out of the house?"

"These are eyeballs, John, not people, and I paid a little visit to work this morning. Early bird gets the worm, that's the expression, isn't it?" Sherlock said with an all-too-innocent expression.

"Expressions aside, Sherlock, I really... oh you know what? I'm going to take a shower." With that, John stormed out of the room, leaving a nonplussed Sherlock with a small pile of thoroughly cooked eyeballs. And a microscope. A small grin flashed across Sherlock's face.

"I suppose I'll just have to finish up this experiment by myself then, hmm?" he said, attempting to make eye contact with the skull. The skull, naturally, didn't respond, nor did Sherlock particularly expect him to. He wasn't crazy, after all.

((((***))))

Arthur really, _really_ wished he hadn't taken it upon himself to host Francis and Alfred.

It had all started out peacefully, really. Arthur had woken up as per usual, gone downstairs to make his tea. And then.

And then a Frog come down, kicked him out of his own kitchen, and proceeded to make the most delicious breakfast Arthur had had in a while (which wasn't so much a bad thing as a very grievous injury to his pride). Then had come Alfred, sleepily rummaging all throughout Arthur's cupboards, making a complete and utter mess of things, and then complained loudly that there was no "decent" cereal. The nerve!

Arthur also had the nagging sensation that someone else had come downstairs too, but he brushed it off.

"Um, Arthur?" Arthur squinted up at the person.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I'm Matthew, not Alfred," said Matthew-not-Alfred with a look of annoyance. "And your phone just rang."

A phone was thrust at Arthur, who fumbled for a moment around his newspaper to grab it. "Hello?"

"Meet me at the scene of the accident in two hours," said a deep, suave voice, before abruptly hanging up.

"I... what?" Arthur stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, at which point it started ringing again. He exchanged a look with the fae on his shoulder, who shrugged. For the second time in two minutes, Arthur answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Sorry about that, Mr. Kirkland. What Sherlock means is that if you would like to come out to the scene of the accident in about two hours, we'll be there as well and then we can begin to track down your... papers, was it?"

"Yes, papers... you're that John fellow, aren't you? Please call me Arthur."

"I am, Mr- Arthur." A sudden, loud banging was heard. "Ahh, Sherlock! You can't- excuse me, I have to go now," John said quickly, and hung up.

Arthur stared at the phone in his hand.

((((***))))

"Sherlock really. You _heard_ Mrs. Hudson last time you shot the wall." Sherlock glowered at the blue frowny face, which sported as many bullet holes as it's yellow counterpart.

"I really think waiting around is such a waste of time, John. We should be there, now, before the blathering idiots at Scotland Yard begin to remove too much information. No sense of what's important, them."

"I really don't think the folks at Scotland Yard could be considered 'blathering idiots'-"

Sherlock waved a hand. "You'd be surprised. After all, Anderson's among them, you can't expect too much." Sherlock stood up quickly from his seat. "That's it, John, we're going. Come along." In almost a single motion, Sherlock had grabbed his coat, put it on, and was walking down the stairs and out the door.

John paused for a moment, sighing. Just one day- couldn't there be just one normal day?

Not that he was complaining too much, though.

(((((((((((((((((((*******************))))))))))))))))))

_***crawls out from behind rocks again* Guys. I. Am. So. Sorry.  
>I totally promised myself I'd have this up way sooner, but I fail at life so yeah that didn't happen. I also told myself they'd actually start the investigation this time and that I'd have this chapter beta-read before I uploaded it, but apparently lying to myself is my new thing so guess what didn't happen either? <strong>_

_**I wasn't even gonna upload this tonight but I figure what with the apocalypse and all, I might as well ;) **_

_**Comments and critique are, of course, always enjoyed, as well as any corrections/suggestions you lot might have.  
>And if you're still here kudos for sticking around this long 3<strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay. 1. Sorry. 2. Thanks to: **_Cookie05, Invader Kiwi, ThatOneGingerKid, Truth's Apprentice, andy-chan24, Cheshire Cat 197, K0ri-chan, The Ignored Criminal, TwoSidesOfACrazyCoin, takuya, CiCiTheAwesome, RandomHetaku, dawnfire216, CactusNoir, Fi Suki Saki, Jazzcat1231, CandleSlytherin, SillyKwado, lidh, cocoblue181, Akakata7, The Dangerous One, and Kirazu Haruka._ **Honestly, you guys make writing worth it. Moving quickly along...**

(((((((((((((*************))))))))))))))

Sherlock and John were waiting for them when they arrived. Sherlock appeared to be pacing, seemingly lost deep in thought, while John raised a hand and gave them a short wave. Arthur, for his part, waved back, before turning around to give one last warning to behave to-

"Oh bloody hell where _is_ everyone?!" Arthur raked his eyes around the London backdrop. John walked up to Arthur just as he spotted Francis buying a rose off a street vendor, consequently ending up screaming a string of unintelligible (what John assumed were) profanities in the Frenchman's general direction. Said Frenchman took it all rather well, smiling airily and managing to blow a kiss at Arthur and wink at some passing tourists at the same time.

"Hey Artie-" "_I told you not to call me that!"_ "-are we there yet?" Alfred, who'd wandered back on John's other side in the meantime, appeared to have raided a street vendor. He munched cheerily on a churro as Arthur gave him a withering glare.

"Alfred where's your-"

"I'm here, Arthur," said a soft voice. Arthur turned around a bit, then, making up his mind, nodded once. 

"Yes, right." Then he turned to John. "Mr. Watson, are you and Mr. Holmes ready? I think I have everyone in my group now, as they all _insisted_ on coming..."

John nodded. "Yessir, we're ready." _Have been for an hour, too, thanks to Sherlock..._ he thought. He motioned for Arthur and the other three men to follow him to where Sherlock was flagging a cab. Out loud, he added, "Inspector Lestrade was in charge of the investigation up till now, but since the crash happened in a somewhat trafficated zone, he had to move it. He's assured us plenty of pictures have been taken, but Sherlock's already in quite a mood, blaming it all on Anderson..."

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow. "On whom?" 

"Anderson. Works for Lestrade. He and Sherlock go way back, apparently, and not in the friendly way either." John made a flippant motion with his hand. "In any case, they detest each other."

"I see," said Arthur, who cast a gaze behind him to make sure that all members of his party were indeed with him. He was mildly surprised to find that they were, in fact, all there, even Matthew. (To be honest, though, he was more surprised that he'd actually been able to tell where Matthew was than that he was there...).

As they approached the now two waiting cabs, Sherlock gave Arthur a look and slightly inclined his head. Arthur took that as a greeting, and returned it in kind, before being manhandled into a cab by a wall of churro'd exuberance. 

Francis gave directions to the cabbie to follow the previous cab, leaving an irritated Arthur to brush sugar crumbs off his jacket. Alfred was talking, as per usual, and Arthur was also ignoring him, as per usual, while trying to avoid air kisses sent over from Francis.

_This is going to be a _long _ride, _thought Arthur, already mourning his sanity. The little fairy who'd accompanied him grimaced in sympathy. 

((((***))))

John peered curiously at the man seated next to him. Or, rather, John peered curiously at the fluffy object in the man's arms. 

"It's a polar bear," he offered, meeting John's gaze. "His name is Kumaji- ...Kumoji-" he furrowed his brow. "Kumomichi! His name is Kumomichi." John gave him a wan smile, trying to find something else to focus on. It was, oddly, Sherlock who broke the awkward silence. 

"You're from Canada. You are familiar with Kirkland to the point of having a familial demeanour around him and the others, yet you have a different surname. Furthermore, adoption from one of them is ruled out because of the nearness in age." 

_A statement_, John noted. _He wants to ask..._

"Eh? Oh, uh, yeah. I guess you could say that Franc-is and Arthur are kind of like me and Alfred's older siblings. They uh, helped raise us. When we were younger. Extended family kind of thing," Matthew said softly. Sherlock sniffed. 

As the cab lapsed into silence once again, John was supremely grateful when he was the yellow police tape in the distance. 

"They've gone and done it again, John." John turned his head to look at Sherlock, confused, Matthew imitating his actions. Seeing both of their confused expressions, Sherlock made a face. "The tape, John. It's smaller in width than it should be if it was blocking off an area the size of the crash pictured in the paper. They've moved it, the idiots." Sherlock's words turned into a faint mumble, and John swore he heard 'it's probably Anderson's fault'. 

"As close as you can get," John called to the cabbie, waiting as the car pulled up even closer to the yellow tape. When it stopped moving, all three passengers disembarked, leaving John to pay. Matthew did, however, turn back a few minutes later and apologize, handing John a couple of pounds. 

"Lestrade! The scene! Where did you move it!" John sighed.

"Is he always this blunt?" Matthew asked John out of the corner of his mouth. John nodded, a resigned set to his shoulders.

"Yes, he is, for better or for worse." Matthew looked on thoughtfully at that. 

"Fucking Frogface can't you just-" 

"It's your fault for raising such an annoying-" 

"Hey hey Artie when do you think we can go see Big Ben, huh?" As John looked on to the three men who'd just noisily emerged from the cab, he was able to catch the bemused glance of one Mr. Bonnefoy and the horrified expression of Arthur. Alfred, for his part, seemed rather content with his last statement.

"Never, you bloody fucking twat!" With that, Arthur stormed off to where Sherlock was engaged in a discussion with Lestrade. Seeing it beginning to heat up, John walked over.

"Sherlock we had to make room for the _traffic_. We've got an entire city to keep smoothly moving here, one single car crash can't be allowed to throw everything off! Oh, hello, Dr. Watson."

"Inspector," John said, tipping his head. 

"Yes yes whatever makes you feel happiest. The pictures, Lestrade. If you've moved everything I need the pictures at least!"

"Yes yes alright just give me a second!" Lestrade huffed, storming over to the police car parked directly behind the yellow tape, and pulled out a high-resolution camera, handing it silently to Sherlock. Sherlock got right to work examining the pictures, while John looked at the collected rubble. Behind him, he could hear the voices of Francis, Alfred, and what he thought was Matthew, all talking about one thing or another. Arthur, in the meantime, had walkd over to look at the crash site along with John. 

"You know," said John. "This looks almost more of an explosion than a car crash." Arthur looked at him, bushy eyebrows raised. 

"You think so? Frankly, I don't remember too much after it hit me. Instant d- er, head trauma."

John nodded. "In Afghanistan, whenever we'd get an IED, the wreckage always looked similar. A- a bit more spread out, of course, but..." John knelt down, reaching under the tape to pick up a small clump of shrapnel. "...we'd get small clumps like this, a lot. From the car's inner workings, little gears and stuff-" 

"Wrong." Sherlock stood behind John, hand outstretched. 

"What do you mean, 'wrong'? I think I know what a damn IED explosion looked li-" 

"No, you're wrong. Those gears don't belong to a car. Let me see them, John. Please." Mute, John stood up and placed the gears in Sherlock's hand, the latter of which began immediately to inspect them, flipping out a magnifying glass and finally turning to his phone for a quick Internet search. 

John turned helplessly to Arthur, whose still-raised eyebrows voiced a question. John only shrugged helplessly in return. He had, after all, had practice in going along with Sherlock's crazy schemes. 

"These are Swiss gears, just as I thought, but not the kind that can be found just anywhere. They come from a very specific brand, only ever made by hand in Switzerland. Can be utilized in anything from clocks to-" Sherlock glanced at the wreckage "-fine kinetic machinery, but the mystery lies, of course, in the fact that these are here, in England, while I know for a fact that they can only be acquired in a certain store in Geneva." Sherlock furrowed his brow. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lestrade, returning from putting the camera back into the police car.

"...do we need to visit Switzerland? I have ah... _contacts_ there, if that's the case..." Arthur offered. Francis and Alfred wandered over, Matthew trailing quietly behind with Kumakichi hugged tightly to his chest. 

"Oh? Are you talking about Vash? I think it's high time we pay him a visit, non?" Francis said, setting an arm on Arthur's shoulder and making the Englishman look like he was about to burst. 

"When's the soonest you can contact him?" Sherlock asked. 

"I have an... open invitation to his house," answered Arthur.

"Wonderful. Where do I book tickets to?" 

"I-"

"Hey Artie are we going to Switzerland? 'Cause we can totally use my jet, you know," Alfred said, seeming excited.

"Excellent now off we go!" Sherlock said before anyone had time to protest. Alfred quickly took the lead, flagging down another cab and talking excitedly to a disinterested Sherlock. 

John let Sherlock's words sink in for a moment. "Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute now, who said I was going to Switzerland on some private jet?!" John turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You best accompany him, Watson. You know how he gets..." Lestrade's face was barely concealing a grin. "And good luck. I dare say you'll need it." 

John watched, defeated, as Lestrade walked back to the police car and got in, letting Donovan, whom John hadn't previously noticed, drive him away. 

"Monsieur Watson! We are leaving, you should hurry!" Francis called to him from the cab. John ran, jumping inside just as the cabbie set the car in drive. Sitting in shock for a couple of seconds, letting the French conversation wash over him, he eventually whipped out his phone.

_Your brother is mad. Also, we're going to Switzerland on Alfred Jones' private jet. -JW_

Hoping, in the back of his mind, that Mycroft would do _something_, John closed his eyes and leaned back onto the seat as the cabbie drove them to the airfield.

(((((((((((((((***************))))))))))))))) 

**oh gods hi. This is so completely unedited and I apologize... and I can only extend my profuse apologies once again... I'm so, SO SORRY for putting this off almost five months *hides face in shame* i had such issues with this chapter... ON A BRIGHTER NOTE HOWEVER during those four-almost-five months, i actually ended up planning out the entire fic, as well as getting rid of most of my school load (finals are coming up soon, though... ugh). anyways basically that means more writing time for me :D **

Other assorted notes about the fic: the reason Arthur says "bloody hell" in the beginning is because Ron Weasley. Also I googled English street food places and kimchi came up? I ended up going with the churros because... well, THAT's a secret ;) as for the rose vendor, I'm kinda hoping that's as common in London as it is in Rome... *heddesks* so many issues please let that slide? Maybe? Until next time?

Also I have a lot of headcanons regarding nations and air travel, please feel free to PM or request a reply to a review if there's something you're wondering ^^

**Before this A/N gets too long, I love you guys, bye!~ (p.s. keep them reviews comin' ^^)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Again, innumerable thanks to: **_WingWeaver01, Invader Kiwi, betsybugaboo, The Dangerous One, sparklybutterfly42, Myrna Maeve, reviewer74, Cookie05, lenore4love, Sora Moto, fayfan, MerlinIsEmrys, ThatOneGingerKid, RosemaryBagels, CactusNoir, Kirazu Haruka, Fi Suki Saki, takuya, Jowie-The-Potato, The Lynx Wearing Eyeliner, and a guest who threatened me with crimes against humanity. _**You guys all really make it worth writing 3**

((((((((((((((((**************)))))))))))))))))

The airfield was surprisingly small, considering it held four Learjets, two relatively large and two smaller ones. Offhand, John noted that two bore the Union Jack emblazoned on their tails, one the American and the other the French flag. Having pulled up and paid the cabbie, four of the men were standing around while Alfred and Arthur held a heated discussion.

"No, Alfred, you are not flying and even if you were, you know full well Vash might not even _allow_ you to land your jet in his airport after all the mess you've pulled!"

"Messes _I've_ pulled? What're you even talking about, man?"

"Oh I don't know just a little something called, er, _The Geneva Conventions?_" Alfred made a noise halfway between a gasp and a squawk.

Next to him, John saw Matthew flinch. John raised an eyebrow questioningly. Matthew shook his head, and John was forced to shrug his curiosity aside for later. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could have sworn he saw Sherlock grin, although with the collar of his coat annoyingly turned up, it was a tad hard to tell.

"Well, fine! But _I'll_ be flying your jet!" Alfred exclaimed, setting off at the run for the larger Union Jack-decorated plane.

"We're taking the small one you twat, it's barely a two hour flight!"

"Wait a minute, Arthur, you can't seriously be letting Al _fly!_" Matthew interjected. Arthur turned to him with a look of mild surprise.

"What are you doin- er, what? Why not? I don't see a problem with it..."

Matthew blanched.

(((((*****)))))

Exactly one hour and 10 minutes later, and John fully understood Matthew's reaction. Seeming to not know what autopilot was, Alfred's flight path was rather, er... _erratic_, to say the least. Even John, with his years of military experience in the often bumpy helicopters and transport aircraft, was feeling a bit sick.

_Crackle crackle. _John looked at where the speakers were in the (very) luxurious cabin. "_Hello this is your pilot Alfred F. Jones speaking. Paging Arthur Kirkland to the cock- haha, cock- pit, I can't get landing permission from Vash."_

Arthur, a little green in the face, stood up shakily and walked to the cabin, muttering what John strongly suspected were curses under his breath. After a few minutes, the speakers crackled to life again.

"_Buckle your seatbelts because we're landing now."_ John barely had time to tighten the strap across his lap when the plane jerks down, giving him a momentary feeling of weightlessness. Which didn't go away. John opened the window covering, peering out at the altogether too rapidly approaching ground below.

"Should someone go and help-" he started.

Matthew interrupted him, a grimace plastered on his face. "As much as he might not seem like he knows what he's doing, Alfred is, sadly, a pretty capable pilo-ack." John, too, felt his breath constrict as gravity returned with an alarming pressure.

"_Sorry 'bout that, guys. Vash said we had a window of four minutes and if we didn't go into freefall we wouldn't have made it."_ John could practically see the grin in Alfred's voice. Arthur meandered out of the cabin again, sat down next to a very quiet Francis, and buckled himself in. Even Sherlock, John noted, was quiet, and John couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock was trying to use mind tricks on himself to get rid of the sensation of seasickness (airsickness?).

John returned his gaze out the window as mountains flashed incredibly close. Directly ahead of them, as far as he could see, was a sheer wall of tree-lined rock. Just as he was about to say something, he heard the sound of the wings adjusting themselves for landing, and the plane rolled sideways, just missing the rock wall, and landed neatly onto a paved runway.

The passengers seemed less than pleased, especially Arthur, who had managed to combine the green shade of airsickness with the red shade of anger into a most delightful mix. John rather thought a painter might be interested. As the plane rumbled to a halt, the speakers came on again.

"_Well it was nice flying with you, stay seated until blah blah blah and did you guys SEE that maneuver there? I almost thought we weren't gonna make it! Ahahaha! E-eer Artie! Your plane is so slow compared to mine! Ahahaha!"_

_Well,_ thought John. _At least _one_ person had a nice flight._

Alfred opened the door and extended the ladder, then stood aside, motioning for everyone to disembark. Five shaky pair of legs descended the stairs in turn, with a cheery Alfred calling, "Thank you for flying with _American_ Airlines! Please come fly with us again!"

At some point, with an ominously dark expression on his face, Matthew muttered, "To hell I will. Wait until I get the Royal Canadians on your ass..." John furrowed his brow, and Sherlock, who'd as of yet made no comment, smirked.

"Royal Canadian Air Force," he said, nodding in Matthew's direction, which of course only left John even more confused.

He shrugged it off (thinking absently on how his habit of shrugging off things he didn't understand when Sherlock was involved would leave him in a hole someday) as a blond-haired, scowling man with a rifle strapped to his back approached them.

"You failed to crash again the mountain, I see. What do you want?"

Arthur stepped forward. "Hello to you too, Vash. Good to see you're as welcoming as ever. We're here on matter of-"

"Yes, I-" Vash's eyes flicked towards Sherlock and John. "-your babysitter called. Already explained. What do you want from me, personally? Make it quick, I have other things I could be doing."

Arthur leaned in and whispered something. Vash's scowl deepened, if that were possible.

"Alright come with me," he said in clipped tones, motioning towards a small shack. "And whoever has the gears give them to me." Sherlock stepped forward, and handed them to Vash.

"They're of a brand made only by hand here in Switzerland, and the question is how-"

"Yes yes do I look like I care? Be quiet please I am looking." Sherlock's mouth snapped shut, and he turned to face John. John shrugged, smiling internally. _About time someone told him to shut up_.

As they entered the shack, which actually turned out to be a large elevator, Vash pressed a few buttons on the wall and the entire chamber began to descend. On the way down, Sherlock typed into his phone and Vash examined the gear. Matthew and Francis seemed to still be trying to get over their airsickness, while Arthur was brooding and Alfred humming along to the elevator tune.

They stepped out into a large room, built like-

"Whoa dude I know you're like, into bunkers and stuff but- heeey nice _Sturmgewehr_ you have here," Alfred said, dashing over to where a single wall was covered, floor to ceiling, with rifles and guns of various makes and models.

"Don't. Touch. Or else I will-" began Vash.

"Oh! There's company! Should I make some tea, Brother?" John turned to look at the pretty girl peeking around a different door.

"Ah, Lilli-"

"A tea would be lovely, if you could, Lilli," Arthur interjected. He grimaced. "Please. Some idiots don't know how to fly properly." Lilli giggled, and disappeared.

"I hope by 'some idiots' you mean yourself because I'm telling you I've got about five Air Medals on a shelf back in New York and-"

"Can we _please_ get to work?" Sherlock asked, glaring around the room.

((((((((((((((((**************)))))))))))))))))

P.S. In regards to the Geneva Conventions thing, yeah, tad large exaggeration. We'd just learned in history class about how the US helped create the Geneva Accords of '54, but then refused to sign on and basically ended up violating the key points of it. ^^;

P.P.S. I have no idea how to fly a plane.

P.P.P.S. I feel like mind tricking himself is something Sherlock would try to do

P.P.P.P.S. the whole E-eeer Artie thing. Think someone starting to say England and changing it to a "eeeeeeeeee" (like, "eeeee there's a mouse").

PPPPPS. is a make and a model the same thing? i don't know anymore it's 3am... wheee... also the _Sturmgewehr_ is the Swiss Army service rifle, which all Swiss are required to keep after their military service in case any other country attacks them. This is also why many many Swiss have bunkers.

P.P.P.P.S. this is a very OOC chapter u.u gomen...


	9. Chapter 9

**Having established that I am the worst person in existence, I would like to thank: **_ Lupin the 14th, BaraKiryuHuntress, Vampchick2010, mofalle, InvaderCool, KTrevo, Eron Elric aka the malchemist, Hibarilova18, Nyghtshade, A Friend To Bubbles, Amydiddle, arthurtwerkland, urufushinigami, IGotDaFeels, Robin Rani, therealladyearth, takuya, and CheesyBirdie_** for all your wonderful reviews, and everyone else who reads this for your patience 3 Thank you and I'm sorry**

(((((((((((((((**********))))))))))))))))

Sherlock and Vash, if that was his name, began conversing quietly, and so John decided to accompany Matthew and Arthur to a small table he hadn't previously noted. Like the rest of the room (with the exception of the guns) it was a very sleek, black minimalist design. No one was talking, and after a prolonged bout of awkward fidgeting, John decided it was due time to say _something_.

"So um. Exactly _where_ are we?" he asked, sound a bit more snippish than he'd intended, but figuring it was still at acceptable levels of snippishness.

"Why, in Switzerland, of course!" replied a suave voice behind him. John straightened up, turning around in his seat to shoot Francis a severely annoyed look.

"Yes, thank you, I hadn't noticed."

"My, my, no need to-"

"I think he has a perfectly valid need to be annoyed with your bloody good-for-nothing arse," Arthur chimed in. John was about to clarify his question, but Francis spoke again, and that then devolved into a full-blown fight between Arthur and Francis. Sitting roughly next to John, Matthew sighed. John turned to him, exasperated.

"Can _you_ at least tell me where we-" there was a sudden hush in the room, and John stopped speaking accordingly. Turning out yet again, he saw that Lilli had come back, sporting a very murderous glare.

"Francis, Arthur, you two wouldn't be fighting again, would you?" she said cheerfully, voice light, while even John recoiled from the sheer anger burning off of her. Matthew almost seemed to turn invisible next to him. Arthur violently shook his head while Francis peeked out cautiously from behind his shoulder. "Good!" Lilli said. "Because last time you fought you broke my very special vase and we can't have that again, now can we?"

"No, of course not!" Arthur said, still panicked.

"Sorry!" Francis called over his shoulder.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Lilli said, evil aura vanishing instantly. "I have tea and some biscuits, though!" she announced, setting them down on the table. Then she sat down in the biggest armchair, where Arthur had previously been sitting. Arthur and Francis then sat down on either side of John, who would have found the entire scenario rather comical (a twelve- or maybe thirteen-year-old girl downright terrorizing two full-grown men- John supposed he should probably ask how and why, but they had stopped arguing and the relief at that was enough to satisfy him) had he not been extremely squished.

Once the tea was handed out, however, things seemed to ease up a bit. Arthur looked quite mollified, even asking Lilli exactly what she'd put into the tea, while Francis praised the biscuits. Matthew might or might not have mumbled something about maple syrup. The biscuits and tea were actually beyond delicious, in John's opinion, and he craned around, ready to bully Sherlock into eating something (when _had_ the last time he'd eaten been, again…?).

"Hey, Sherlo-" John trailed off when he noticed that Sherlock was in a heated argument with Vash, who had his arms crossed, one of his hands fiddling with the strap that held his rifle to his back. Sighing, John set down his tea, pushing himself up off the couch and heading over to where the two men were standing in the middle of the room.

"-and I don't care, but certain information is confidential."

"Mr. Zwingli I assure you I am trying to-"

"Sherlock? What's going on here?" John flicked his eyes from Vash's unreadable face to Sherlock's (most likely theatrical- he did that whenever he needed information) frown.

"Nothing, John. Mr. Zwingli admits to knowing the maker and who he sells to but refuses to inform me."

"As I have told you several times, certain information is confidential," Vash grumbled, trailing off and muttering something in what sounded like a mix of French and German. John rubbed his temples.

"Look, Sherlock, why don't we just go and have some tea-"

"Fine," Sherlock answered. John was left speechless, before catching himself, nodding to Vash, and hurrying after Sherlock. _This probably means he has a plan…_ knowing Sherlock, he'd already gathered half the information he needed, anyway. How, exactly, was always quite beyond John; it was amazing, really, how Sherlock would simply look at something and derive all the correct answers.

They reached the table, and Sherlock accepted a cup from Lilli as John reclaimed his own. Vash walked up next to him, saying something in- was it German?- upon which Lilli also handed him a cup.

_BANG! _Everyone froze, slowly turning to face the adjacent room's door.

Alfred's head popped out from behind the doorway, and he chuckled nervously into the deathly silence.

"Now, Vash, please don't kill me or anything, but I _may_ or may not have dropped your-" Alfred was cut off by a loud bang. John flinched, and whipped around, nearly spilling his tea, to find Vash clearly _very_ livid and holding a smoking gun.

"Sei Dankbar, dass meine erste Schuss nur eine Leere ist, _Amerika_. Wäre ich dich, ich würde laufen…" John didn't understand a word, but Alfred gulped rather audibly, opened his mouth, and screamed, before vanishing behind the doorway and, evidently, running away from the blond madman with a gun chasing after him. John blinked.

"Oh bloody hell," Arthur said, sounding suspiciously like Rupert Grint. In the remaining stunned silence (muffled screaming and either gunshots or more things falling could be heard in the distance), Arthur gingerly set down his cup, finished off his biscuit in small, neat bites, then primly stood up. "Right, Matthew, take the civilians and go get the jet started. Francis, come with me, I regret to inform you that I'll actually need your help this time." His voice bore an authoritative tone that brooked no argument.

Francis sighed deeply. "Well, thank you for the tea and exquisite biscuits, Lilli," he said, before following the stalking Arthur through the doorway. John almost jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning his head to see Matthew looking at the door with an exasperated expression on his face.

"Come on, I've got to get the plane started before they separate the two, or else we're screwed…" Matthew said. He let go of John's shoulder, picked up his stuffed bear (which had biscuit crumbs all over his mouth…?), and began to walk to the door. John walked over to where Sherlock was talking surprisingly pleasantly with Lilli.

"Sherlock, we've got to go."

"Yes yes just a moment John I have rather important matters to be discussing with Lilli here," Sherlock said, waving a hand dismissively. John rolled his eyes, and began following Matthew back the way they'd come.

"Is he coming?" Matthew asked, leading the way to the elevator.

"I think so… Sherlock?" John turned to look back towards the room, spotting Sherlock walking towards them while tucking something into his coat. John quirked an eyebrow, but Sherlock brushed past him, following Matthew instead.

Eventually they were back on the small tarmac, Matthew having somehow single-handedly not only started the plane, but also turned it around and prepped it for flight. And also left it to idle, choosing instead to sit awkwardly with John and Sherlock in the main cabin.

"So…" John began, and was cut off by frantic yelling outside. He peered out the window. Arthur was dragging Alfred by the wrist, running frantically, and Francis was waving to someone still at the house.

"-atthew get into the cockpit you're flying takeoff Lilli's holding Vash back for the moment but-"

Matthew lept up, rushing to the cockpit and closing the door. Outside, the engines revved, and the three men hurriedly rushed up the short steps, Francis collapsing them once he was safely inside and fastening the door shut (John observed this interestedly- clearly all four must have known how to fly planes- was that _usually_ something taught to ambassadors? He'd have to ask Mycroft…).

The minute he'd done so, of course, the plane lurched into motion. As they began to take off, John fancied he could see a small figure waving a gun at them from the runway.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((**********************)))))))))))))))))))))))))

***peeks out from behind shield* plz don't murder me i am so sorry**

**SEASON THREE IS SOON GUYS AND HIMAPAPA CAME BACK JUST DON'T HURT ME WHERE DO YOU THINK VIRGIN OLIVE OIL COMES FROM HMM? but we're just gonna disregard that bit where Himaruya said that spending too much time around the nation-tans drives regular humans insane, mm?**

**also, I headcanon Liechtenstein to be the toughest of all the Germanics and **_**everyone**_** knows it.**

"_Sei Dankbar, dass meine ertse Schuss nur eine Leere ist, Amerika. Wäre ich dich, würde ich laufen…"_ = "Be thankful that my first shot is a blank, America. If I were you, I'd run…" (Um, disclaimer though, I'm not entirely sure if Leere is the correct translation of blank? It's been a while since I've actually spoken German and I'm starting to forget it T.T)


	10. Chapter 10:Author'sNoteStory Conclusion

**Hello, everyone. **

**Firstly, I'd like to apologize; I fell off the bandwagon for both of these fandoms, and I really have no interest in continuing the story any longer. Given that it was looking to be a significantly long story, I've decided to call it quits, here.**

_HOWEVER._

I _had_ plotted out quite a bit, albeit not as well or thoroughly as I plot things nowadays, but here are the remaining plot notes regarding the Case of England:

-after visiting Vash, John notes that Sherlock is quiet and—can it _be?_—thoughtful  
>-Lilli gave Sherlock a list of clients from Vash's thing behind Vash's back<br>-they head to Spain because that's the first one on the list  
>-Antonio and Lovino are there, but it's a dead end<br>-they visit a few more countries (Germany, Russia, China, possibly others?)  
>-at each point the nation-tans keep <em>almost<em> blowing their cover  
>-Sherlock definitely notices<br>-at each point (except for Spain) they also get a further clue as to who's at the heart of this assassination attempt  
>-trail finally leads to Japan<br>-while they're at Kiku's house, all having tea or something to that effect, one of the doors flies open and—gasp—Himaruya-san himself bursts in, asking Japan for more information so he can continue drawing his webcomics  
>-he doesn't realize there's other people in the room until he's already asked<br>-everyone looks horrified  
>-except Sherlock, who calmly takes out a gun and shoots Kiku<br>-cue John flipping out  
>-but Kiku's fine because he's a country, the entire ruse is up, and it turns out the assassinations happened because the computer Himaruya was using wasn't secure and hackers had hacked it [somehow, I think, my 16-year-old mind decided that Himaruya and Kiku shared a house] and all of Kiku's files were on there<br>-it was the international mafia, each one giving information on to the next until the Brits decided to do something about their nation-tan [because of? Belief reasons or anarchy or something along those lines, my notes aren't clear at this point] (led by, guess who, Moriarty yes good for you)  
>-Sherlock delivers this speech with great satisfaction and John's pretty shell-shocked<br>-both are forced to sign non-disclosure agreements by Mycroft, who also happens to deploy his forces and wipe the whole mess up all nice and tidy with a bow on top (actually, the bow was Anthea's fault)

The End (If anyone wishes to actually write out the above? Please do? Just link me to the result though )

All that being said, of course, I'd like to extend one last round of thank yous to each and every single one of you—thank you for letting me get this far, and for reading and enjoying and reviewing. You all are the best 3

~Piyo13


End file.
